


I won't let you down

by Taera



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins die beware, Available in Russian, I still love those two okay?, I tried to make it better during the translation, I tried to write action here, M/M, Minor Character Death, finally translated it, got a new OTP while watching the trailer, my first text with this pairing, ohmygod what am I doing with my life, this one is an old text, written in 2014, wrote it before the game was out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Taera
Summary: Finally, Shay officially became a Templar, but before Morrigan would be able to sail the Atlantic ocean, Shay had to finish something else. And his strange reaction to the presence of Master Kenway would not stand in his way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Я вас не подведу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087897) by [Tatrien (Taera)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Tatrien). 



> This text was a result of me seeing Shay and Haytham in one frame :D  
> It's an AU because I've written it before I even watched Rogue, so strong were my feelings x))
> 
> Beta-read by me, all mistakes, therefore, are also mine.

Their careful circling around one another had finally come to a logical conclusion; Shay was a Templar now, officially. The Grand Master attended that meeting, too, and when Shay saw him for the first time he immediately realized why this man had been the most wanted target amongst the Assassins for so long and yet remained alive. For it was no accident at all, that he had his high rank. Shay felt the power radiating from that man, he almost saw it, tasted it in the air like the warmth that radiated from red embers in the fireplace. A presence that demanded full and undivided attention. Shay felt the pulling of the Grand Master’s charisma and experienced firsthand how Haytham Kenway with the simplest of words prompted obedience and induced an urge to follow him.

And on top of all of that rapt delight that at times seemed almost unnatural (too fast, too absorbing, _too much_ ), a cold, almost sickening lump of nervousness twisted in Shay’s guts. Last time he experienced anything close to this anxiety happened so long ago the memories tasted of old books and dry flowers.

“I expect, you will not disappoint,” something flickered in the Templar’s eyes – Shay managed to catch it only by a miracle, and in the next moment, a strong desire reared its head like a warm overwhelming wave, a desire to wipe off this bitterness from the face of Master Kenway. In that moment Shay suddenly realized that he with all his heart wanted to earn the trust of this man and prove him he was worthy.

Choking down the itch to shift from foot to foot, Shay swallowed and said as convincingly as he could: “I don’t plan to, Sir.”

Emotions churned inside him, anxiety and lightheadedness and something else, unintelligible, all mixing together, making his head spin with melting shapes of many different flavors. It was similar to the excitement and dread (with the latter prevailing) Shay felt the first ten-odd times he performed Leaps of Faith. The fear of falling into the abyss, the realization that in that very moment, impossibly still and sharp, all of his life was hanging by a thread, vulnerable to the merest of errors.

And though right now Shay stood on a firm ground, the feeling of an abyss under his feet didn’t ebb away. All because of the man standing before him, his piercing grey eyes attentive, cautious even now. This man inspired admiration and apprehension from the very first second Shay saw him, but only now Shay’s thoughts stuttered to a complete silence when he realized that he was already prepared to risk his life for Master Kenway. Or accept death from his blade, if he would wish to kill him.

Shay managed to suppress all those emotions only just, containing a shudder that threatened to wash over his whole body. He could feel his self-control straining, groaning from the efforts of keeping his inner tribulations under control and away from his face. Not an easy feat it was; a long time ago Liam noticed the excessive expressiveness of Shay’s eyes — and his face as well — and started exploiting it, often using it against him in sparrings, so Shay’s anxiety in that moment was perfectly reasonable. And although he, as long as he could remember, always lacked control in Liam’s company and it somewhat redeemed this little weakness of his, Shay was starting to understand that Master Kenway could very well prove to be an even harder challenge with his sharp eyes and aura of power.

The question was, would Shay ever be able to successfully pass it without making a fool out of himself.

Kenway had studied him for several seconds, some emotion in the barely visible lines at the corners of his eyes lurking just beyond this side of ‘understandable’. Shay tried to, but couldn’t interpret what he saw. Not a surprise, really.

The Templar nodded. “Very well. Your skills were tested, am I right?”

“Yes. I was allowed to go on missions with labels ‘above average’ and ‘hard’”.

“Hmm, not bad,” Master Kenway drawled, his British accent more pronounced than before. Shay started, a wave of shiver trickling down his spine, leaving warmth and needles in its wake. He didn’t want to believe this, but the facts weren’t going to change just because he wanted them to.

Bloody hell, his response to someone’s voice never was as strong as this, especially when subjects of _that_ Crown were involved.

“In that case,” Shay snapped out of his reverie and focused on Master Kenway, praying to all known gods the man didn’t notice his lack of attention, “I will be waiting for you tomorrow morning, at dawn.”

“Where, Sir?” he risked asking, because Templars gave him no information yet on any locations important to the Order, so he did not know any usual place for such meetings.

“I heard you possess Eagle Vision, Mr. Cormac?” his name sounded sinfully good, rolling from Master Kenway’s lips, and Shay consciously forced himself not to grit his jaw and clench his fists; that man would not have left without a comment such a blatant demonstration of tension. No, Shay didn’t want to arouse any suspicions. Any more of them, that is.

"Yes," Shay answered after a short pause.

Indeed, he was one of those few who possessed this unusual gift, and even was so proficient with it that he, unlike most in the Brotherhood, was able to easily use it at any given time without risking terrible consequences. But he told nothing to Christopher and Monro, and Shay was left guessing how this Templar came upon such undisclosed information.

“Then you’ll find me,” concluded Master Kenway. And even though his face was completely serious, something gleamed in his grey eyes… or was it just a game of light and clouds? Or maybe even of Shay’s own imagination? Shaken by the latest revelations, Shay was starting to doubt his own senses.

Taking a deep breath, he mentally shook himself. He understood. Another test.

Long exhale.

“Very well.”

“Goodbye, then,” Master Kenway nodded him farewell, turned around, made several steps… and disappeared.

Blinking in shock, Shay looked around. This man had just _vanished_ from a _completely empty_ street. And without alarming keen ears of an ex-Assassin. In one moment he was there, in the next – gone.

Cursing quietly under his breath, Shay switched to the Eagle Vision and, of course, saw a trace of yellow fog. It was already dissipating quickly, in a straight line running to and through the passage that connected two streets on the opposite sides of the building it was piercing.

Truly admirable skill, what else could he say?

Humming softly in appreciation, Shay headed back to the inn where he was provided with a room. Morrigan would always be home to him and there was no doubt in that, but wasting half an hour just to get somewhere from the docks was redundant and inconvenient.

The trip to the inn went in relative peace (Shay was still reeling a little from what he’d gone through earlier), and the rest of the day Shay spent fettling and arranging his munitions into perfect working condition; he still was a little unused to the red color in clothing — the new coat was more than good, with sewed-in and adequately thick leather armor granting at least some semblance of protection without hindering movement too much, but the glaring red decorations… wouldn’t they get in the way when the need to hide from the enemy would arise? During the test (completely needless, if you ask him) Shay had successfully sneaked up on some Templar without him noticing even merest of movements, but that result didn’t really show anything, no.

The grey and blue clothes on the other hand… Master Kenway’s outfit would more likely hide him from an unwanted gaze; it drew less attention simply because colors were more neutral, calm. Red was less used in it, mainly on the lining, which most of the time wasn’t exposed at all.

Oh no, he should not have thought about Master Kenway’s clothes. For after that thought came another, about how he moved like an experienced predator, after that — another one, of how he dominated the room the moment he came in, how he demanded obedience and attention…

About his voice.

 Shay noticed he was attracted not only to women but also to some men before he even became an apprentice in the Assassin Brotherhood. It was Liam the first time Shay had fallen in love with a man, but after realizing his desires were unnatural and seeing how his friend admired feminine beauty, Shay suppressed what he felt and vowed not to experience that kind of feelings ever again. He forced himself to be satisfied with a simple friendship. He dived into serving the Brotherhood soon after that realization.

And then he saw exactly how much it had rotten on the inside.

With a start Shay emerged from those unhappy memories; he wasn’t prepared to meet them face to face right now. The scar was too fresh, and too frequently, especially during the cold nights, the right side of his face was twitching from the phantom pain, the fear of losing his eye chilling out his insides. Shay shook himself like a dog. Now, any time any ‘inappropriate’ thought about Haytham showed up in his head (hot shiver ran down his spine when he called Master by name, even if just in thoughts) at the heels of a prickling arousal a nasty and sticky bitterness lifted its head along with guilt. Shay really should have those undue feelings suppressed quickly, while they still weren’t of any serious hindrance.

And they _will_ interfere, and pretty soon unless he got rid of them before that happened. Shay understood that with crystal clarity. His hand reached for the fresh scar on his face but he stopped the gesture in the middle of it.

He groaned, irritated, then set aside his polished and sharpened sword, and went down to have a late dinner. A tankard of ale and a baked duck with rice did not sooth his temper, but indeed assisted with sleep – after returning to his room, Shay collapsed onto the bed without even getting out of trousers and shirt and immediately dozed off, his dreams shallow and uneasy.

The morning met him with cold damp air and cloudy sky. The sunrise wouldn’t come in another half an hour, so Shay had time to pack and prepare and, after returning to the place where he met Master Kenway yesterday, trace the barely visible yellow hazy trail to the neighboring region. The Templar was sitting on boxes not far away from the stables and writing something. Maybe it was his diary.

“Good morning,” Master Kenway said almost cheerfully, not raising his head from his writing. “You came here even earlier that I expected,” the Templar finally looked at the younger man, and in his steel eyes, Shay saw that strange dancing gleam again. Or was it just his overactive imagination?

”Good morning, Master Kenway. I try to never be late,” Shay answered politely, watching the Templar nimbly gather his writing equipment and tuck it away to the inside pocket.

It was carried close to the heart, and that could only mean that there was a lot of important and private information in there.

“Well then, to horses. The road ahead of us is long.”

Shay obediently nodded — he understood perfectly well that if he wasn’t informed of their destination, then he had no use of knowing it — and lead by bridle an already saddled steed to the street right after Master Kenway.

Then they rode through the Frontier, switching between gallop, trot, and pacing, from time to time making stops to let horses drink and rest. There was nothing Shay could do except watch the road and study Haytham, who was constantly ahead by a half-length. He was riding his horse so easily and elegantly, like a true aristocrat, and every time Shay thought of himself he felt clumsier than ever. He could not see himself from an outsider’s point of view, but he had a very strong gut-feeling his stance was far from graceful. He always was more of a sailor than a horseman, and at least he was sitting firmly in the saddle.

And if during the ride thoughts weren’t bothering Shay much because, well, he had to watch surroundings and the treacherous tree branches overhead that sometimes got too low, when they stopped for a night in the forest Shay realized he was deep in trouble. Also, it should be noted that Master Kenway insisted upon such choice of events, rejecting the possibility of spending the night in a tavern they passed an hour or so ago, and, thus, making Shay’s life so much harder.

He couldn’t meet Master’s gaze because he was afraid the man would somehow learn his secret, but if he were to continue avoiding looking Haytham in the eyes, he would start to suspect something anyway. If Shay broke his concentration even a little bit, he immediately started to tense, and the closer he was to Master Kenway, the stronger he tensed and got more nervous. And what was even worse — all those signs could’ve been considered as telltales of his betrayal, of his still being an Assassin, who passed so well all of the Templars’ tests. Yes, were Shay in Master Kenway’s place, and were he to see such a strange behavior of his companion, last thing of which he would think would be his crush. The first thought after witnessing such a behavior would be of another betrayal.

All the more reasons to bridle his… unnatural feelings as soon as possible. But to do so, he needed time.

Which he did not possess.

Fortunately, while gathering firewood, he regained some of his mental balance, so he hoped he’d outlast this one night. After that, there would be ride again, and he wouldn’t have to endure Master’s scrutinizing gaze and would be able to snatch some time to work on himself, to make himself understand and accept.

Shay blinked and concentrated on the reality around him — the Templar indeed was silently watching him for some time now.

“What?” meeting his gaze for a carefully measured minimal period of time, so that not to make an impression as if he was avoiding looking him in the eye, Shay busied himself with organizing firewood within a circle of stones.

“Nothing,” Master Kenway answered, humming a short ‘hm'. "By the middle of the day after tomorrow, we will get to the fort. I have business with the Captain there, your duty is to be careful and watch and listen.

A simple escort. Though, considering everything, it really didn’t look so simple. Shay had a strong gut feeling about it, and he was used to trusting his guts without any doubt — after all, it saved his life numerous times before.

“I see. What should you have me do while you… speak with the Captain?”

“Look after the horses. I don’t think we will stay there for very long. And there is a high possibility we’re walking into a trap — keep your eyes open.”

“Certainly,” Shay nodded in answer and took from the saddle bag the box with a lighting set. After several dry clicks, the spark finally danced over the dry grass under the branches.

While they watched the lithe flames, dining, almost serene silence enveloped them.

 

Luckily for Shay, by the time they got to the fort he had rather successfully repressed his unwanted emotional hindrance, and so the evenings, spent in the company of Master Kenway, went fairly well and without any trouble. Really, the man was very interesting to talk to, so interesting, actually, that during their discussions Shay never thought about his little problem, never remembered it even existed.

They rode to the gates without any problem, though the tension in the air was obvious; Shay didn’t like it at all when he saw the tent camp nearby and the sheer amount of soldiers milling around. Indeed, it looked very much like a trap. A trap for a very dangerous beast.

They went slowly, allowing guards to have a good look at them and recognize them, but despite all that they were stopped by the gates anyway, and Haytham (a remote part of Shay contentedly noted that when he called the Grand Master by his first name a shiver didn’t run through him anymore) had to spend five minutes on talking with the guards’ superior, and only after that they were finally let into the fort.

Even before Master Kenway gave him a warning look Shay already knew that they stepped onto not a friendly territory at all; the air, slowly getting thicker with tension, informed Shay of that obvious fact. The British army in its worst — hostile to the subjects of its very own crown. Also, such a behavior raised suspicions about the Captain of this fort who, from what Shay gathered, should have been a Templar. _Should have_ being the operative phrase.

Haytham went after the Private and into a two-stored building, in front of which was a clear area with a flagpole in the center and enough empty space to allow several dozens of men and almost as many horses to move freely. Shay stayed outside since Haytham didn’t order him to come along, besides, steeds needed to be watched over. In case they would have to depart in haste.

Ten minutes later Shay heard unpleasant whispers, barely audible, nonetheless very much present in his head. Without betraying his intentions, he concentrated, making everything fade into black and red and grey, and looked around. He was surprised to… actually, no. Considering mounting tension and the fact that the air was almost ringing from the expectations of forthcoming events, it was no surprise at all when Shay discovered a crouching Assassin in the nearby bushes. Well, not _too_ nearby. The distance was pretty decent, though well within the range of a gunshot, and the Assassin hadn’t unsheathed his weapons yet, so Shay calculated he had around ten minutes before everything would roll down to hell.

He was standing at a very disadvantageous spot —open space, anything situated here automatically turned into an ideal target begging to be shot; the building behind him cut off any possible escape routes, the bushes with the Assassin on the flank also complicated things. The only passable cover were horses. It was a pity, to sacrifice such good mares, but Shay valued his own life more than that of a horse. Trying not to make his knowledge of the oncoming assault too obvious, Shay weighed up the possible vector of an attack; he saw a number of men “cleaning their muskets” and concluded that they would try to shoot him, so Shay moved in such a way so that horses got situated between him and his soon to be enemies. That way he would have to deal with the Assassin first. The poor man would have been very surprised if Shay were to stab him right in his precious bushes. But no, he wasn’t alone here, he was accompanying Master Haytham. And although that man was an excellent swordsman, he scarcely would be able to do something with a dozen of bullets flying straight at him.

For several seconds Shay was pondering what signal the enemies around him were waiting for exactly, and, immersed in his musings, almost missed the moment when the door, from which Master Kenway were to go out, started to open.

Everything had burst into motion. Soldiers shouldered arms, raising cocks clicked, irritating whisper became deafening — and all that was happening to the accompaniment of a creaking door, that was opening theatrically slowly. Shay had mere seconds to deal with the Assassin and to push Master Kenway under cover. In that moment Shay was happy he never left behind any of his gear. Smoke bombs were very useful right now, they gave him so much needed time, and Shay managed to grab Haytham by the hand and yank him closer, all that at the last moment. Immediately after that, the gunshots rang in a disarray, wounded horses whining loudly, rearing up; they didn’t knock the two men down only by a miracle. Kenway used the inertia of the pull and turned them around, and Shay, continuing the motion, took out his pistol and, in a flash changing to his Eagle Vision, shot the Assassin that was still coughing from the smoke.

Shortly after that Shay realized his whole body was pressing to the other Templar and that he was looking at his face from a distance of a kiss —Shay could even feel the man’s breath on his skin and quickly beating heart in his chest — moreover, Haytham’s free hand fell to Shay’s hip, somewhat too naturally, firmly holding him in place by his cloak.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Haytham nodded sharply, breaking the spell, then pulled away and reached for his sword, unsheathing it. “You?”

“Me too.”

“Good,” for another moment Shay allowed himself to watch Master Kenway’s lips, then he mentally shook himself and returned to the task at hand. They had to get out of the fort, and it was rather desirable they did so alive and unharmed.

The next volley, not as powerful as the previous one, quieted poor horses. They were such an excellent hiding place for the last several seconds.

“Go to the eastern wall.”

“Understood.”

Shay loved fighting. Not strong enough to go and find problems — they found him perfectly well without his help — but strong enough so that he would want to learn every weapon he could lay his hands on and hone his skill as best as he could. And it was worth mentioning that Shay was more interested in the effectiveness, he didn’t concern himself with the fact that throwing sand into opponent’s eyes was a dirty move, or the fact that switching from the saber to hidden blade in the middle of the fight, finishing his enemy with one swift strike of said blade or blowing a hole in him with a pistol, by some “noble souls” was considered unfair at the very least. Shay used everything that was in his disposal: smoke bombs, grenades, poison and rope darts, sword and many other tools, which Assassins had taught Shay how to use.

And they taught him well.

Haytham and Shay, as it turned out, were perfect partners. They felt moves of one another, they fluently entwined their stabs and slashes without breaking their own chains of attack and defense, inflicting severe damage and leaving pools of blood and quickly cooling bodies behind.

After some time, when they had climbed up the stairs to the eastern wall, Shay noticed himself smiling. Lately, it was happening more and more — in the heat of the fight a predatory grin pulled his lips, baring his teeth, and Shay could do nothing about it. Though on occasion it frightened his enemies, so Shay didn’t really consider it a serious problem.

When Master Kenway leaped closer to Shay with a half-pirouette, blocking a sword that was aiming at Shay’s throat, a cacophony of deafening whisper exploded in his head. Moving on bare instincts, Shay threw himself at Haytham with all the force and speed he had, not concerned about his own balance. Haytham’s life was more important.

The falling was sudden for both of them, but the older Templar had not wasted any moment of it, and, while bullets whistled above them and stone shards sprayed over them, he took out his pistol and shot the nearest soldier that was running in their direction. The already dead man tumbled down, knocking off three of his still living comrades, giving Shay time to roll off of Haytham and jump back to his feet. Shay would think about how nice it was to feel Haytham under him later when their lives were not in danger.

Looking around quickly, he noticed three more Assassins, perched at the highest thick enough branches of the trees nearby, outside the fort. It wasn’t possible to reach them from the wall, and it was almost too far for his gun to be of any use — Shay really didn’t want to waste the remaining bullet in such a pointless way.

“Cormac, I’ll cover you, get rid of them!” Haytham correctly understood his momentary pause and suddenly appeared at his side.

They glanced at one another, Shay nodded, and they simultaneously jumped off the forty-feet wall, landing and rolling in a completely identical manner, and something scratched at the back of Shay's mind at that, but, for the time being, he dismissed this strange feeling, concentrating on reaching the Assassins on the trees before they managed to reload their guns.

At some point he had to dodge one of them when he jumped down at Shay, intending to finish him with a single stab. Now, with the distance drastically shortened, it was impossible to miss. It took Shay two seconds to shoulder his gun, aim at the enemy’s head and squeeze the trigger. Minus one. With the second one, Shay tried to use a rope dart, but the Assassin dove under cover in time. Cursing in his head, Shay took a running jump onto the suitable tree and set to climbing it, every now and then forced to perform risky leaps and jumps only to dodge the poison darts the enemies were showering him with. Shay finally was at the same level with the Assassins exactly when they finished reloading, and for a second Shay found himself looking down the black barrel of a gun aiming at his chest. The shot rang, but the pain never came. Several precious seconds later he realized, that just now Master Kenway had saved his life. The dead Assassin fell to the ground.

But the second one managed to shoot the Grand Master. Muffled and painful moan made it clear that Haytham wasn’t able to dodge, and shouts of soldiers pouring out of the fort and running to the trees helpfully informed Shay they had ten seconds tops. Somewhere from the woods came snorting and neighing of horses.

Throwing another rope dart at the Assassin who tried to run away and knocking him out of balance, Shay pulled and dropped him to the ground. He didn’t have the opportunity to perform an air assassination – Master Kenway killed the Assassin, striking with his hidden blade between vertebrae, swiftly ending his life. Shay quickly returned to the ground.

“Master, I heard horses!” without wasting any time on further explanations, he rushed to where he thought the mares were. Glancing sideways and seeing Haytham briskly running along, Shay concluded his partner wasn’t hurt too much despite all the blood.

Bullets whistled, splinters piercing the air, and the two of them rushed through the bushes, instantly noticing three mounted horses tethered to a young tree. Animals were scared by the shooting, their eyes bulging out, ears moving nervously, hoofs digging into the dirt; bridles taut and almost budging under the stress. Fortunately, that played in Templars’ favor, because they didn't have to cut anything. It took them three seconds, to rip bridles from the tree, jump into saddles and spur horses right into a gallop; the animals were happy to oblige, fleeing scary red bipeds.

Soon the angry shouts disappeared far behind, the shootings stopped. Only leaves whispered around and rare animal or bird cried out. Horses were snorting heavily but obediently continued galloping along the forest road.

“Cormac!”

Slowing down and waiting for Master Kenway to catch up with him (and wondering, how _exactly_ he managed to become a leader in their small squad), Shay questioningly looked at the man.

For a second he had to call upon all his willpower (and a little _more_ ) just to keep his mouth from falling agape – right now Haytham was simply gorgeous: his ponytail disheveled, strands of hair framing his expressive face, eyes burning.

Then Shay noticed his right sleeve, dark with blood.

“Master Kenway, your wound needs bandaging,” Cormac allowed his steed to slow down even more and turned on his saddle to face the Templar, trying to assess the gravity of the damage with eyes only.

“We need to lose the pursuit,” when Haytham was agitated, his crisp British accent was more pronounced.

Shay nodded — sooner or later they would have to leave horses and go on foot if they wanted to put the Assassins off the track. It wasn’t even a question whether or not they would follow. Surely one of them stayed in bushes, waiting. Letting his brothers die. Shay suppressed the flash of dull pain in his chest and forced himself to think only of here and now.

It was way past midday. Shay estimated they had around four light hours left. If they were lucky, that time would be enough for them to cross the river. But the wound needed a treatment.

“We will go to the North-East, there we will cross the river and only then you will bandage me, no sooner,” it was impossible to oppose such a tone.

Nodding his agreement, Shay dedicated himself to watching the forest around them, especially the trees. He wasn’t looking forward stumbling upon Indians and dying from their sharp arrows and pikes after all they went through getting out of that well-guarded fort. Thirty minutes more, and horses noticeably slowed, too tired from the long run; they were nothing compared to the Order’s horses. Those would’ve never got tired so quickly. On the other hand, these Assassin steeds were well trained to traverse through uneven terrain. Any other horse would’ve more likely broken a leg already.

When they climbed the hill, rising above surrounding green enough to actually see this sea of plants, Master Kenway signaled to stop, took his spyglass from one of his pouches, and, turning the way they came, examined the horizon for ten minutes or something.

“They are two to three hours behind,” Haytham said finally. “But there is a lot of soldiers.”

“I haven’t seen them having any dogs, and even if there were any living Assassin left, they do not possess Eagle Vision.”

“We won’t get to the river in time anyway.”

“Can you climb trees?”

“Not as good as you can,” Haytham answered after a short pause, and there was something in his voice… Shay would’ve called it bitterness if he didn’t think his hearing made tricks on him. Of course Master sounded tired — he was wounded and spent the last hour in saddle attempting to get off the pursuit.

His plan on getting away through the upper tier of the forest wasn’t good enough, then. A pity, it was a very convenient place to lose pursuers, especially if one knew how to do this.

“I’ll distract them, and then I’ll come find you,” really, it was the only way. He could not let Haytham  fight again; though his wound seemed insignificant, the loss of blood definitely had affected him, weakening him, even if just slightly. And the title of the Grand Master left no room for doubting who should be staying behind.

For several seconds Haytham looked at Shay with completely unreadable eyes, as if evaluating whether he would really be able to get through this skirmish alive.

“Very well. I’ll go up the stream, there I'll find somewhere secluded and wait for you for a day. After that, I ride to Albany."

“Got it,” Shay answered, checking the saddlebags. He found only some meager food, a flask with water, and several rope darts. Shay drank roughly half of what was in the flask and, noticing Master Kenway didn’t have one, gave it to him. It would be a pity to lose more of what little equipment they had left. The oncoming skirmish was going to be very troublesome- because they were in the forest and because the enemy was numerous and dangerous for a single man.

It would be so much fun.

Master Kenway took Shay’s horse and went to the river, Shay in meantime climbed a branchy oak and, jumping and balancing on narrow boughs, ran back to their pursuers. He saw the first soldier when the sun was already orange, sitting on a horizon line, coloring forest like danger, stretching long and crooked shadows across the fallen leaves. There were three trackers, as it turned out; other seven men were simple soldiers, and they held themselves with such nervousness in their saddles that Shay was pretty confident with making an assumption that those guys knew naught on how to survive in the wilds. Without those trackers, they won't be able to find a deer in the nearest bushes.

It was interesting, hunting rangers; they were good, Shay even felt a pang of pity he had to rob the British army of such excellent men, but they tried to kill wrong people. Trackers were very keenly attuned to the forest noises, and one time Shay was almost got caught; he managed to plunge his hidden blade into other’s neck in time to cut off a cry that was already forming on the man’s lips. The tracker choked on his own blood that gushed from his throat, and Shay dragged him aside, hid under some bushes so that others didn't find him too soon. Several days later wolves would pick its bones clean, and nothing would be left to identify the dead man.

The next ranger was busy reading horse trails that clearly led towards the hill. Soldiers stood nearby, though at some distance; they soothed their mares that got more and more nervous by the second. Maybe they smelled blood. Shay really didn’t want to waste his berserker poison, but he couldn’t let others see him. Although he’d got a dubious pleasure of seeing in every detail how the mad tracker plunged his hunter's knife into the belly of the nearest soldier, and how the panic happened. Soon, a dissonant round of shots rung through the forest, and, with blood-red bubbles on his lips, the ranger collapsed like a bag of meat and bones. He managed to cut another soldier before finally letting out his last breath. The soldier was too busy with keeping his intestines in place, he was no threat anymore. Minus three.

The last tracker remained.

As Cormac soon realized, he was an Assassin.

He was in no mood of prolonging it more than was necessary, so Shay simply threw a rope dart, thinking to quickly kill this Assassin. He _tried_ to do this, that is; the tracker, it seemed, heard the whizz of the dart flying, for the moment after it thrust into him he nimbly swirled, cutting the rope and dashing behind a tree. Shay’s aim was off and, as it turned out, he hit not the throat but the Assassin’s shoulder. Other soldiers were finally alarmed to his presence and started shooting in his direction, though not with any kind of a good aim. They were shooting in the direction from where the rope dart appeared.

Shay felt fatigue spreading through his body like a warm syrup, he knew he needed to finish all of this and the sooner the better. Because with every second, the chance for him to make a mistake grew, moreover considering the fact that it was almost impossible to see in the darkness. In truth, the only reason he still didn't fall from to the earth was that his Eagle Vision allowed him to sense where the branches were. And showed him where the Assassin was hiding, even if just a direction to him.

Shots stopped, the soldiers busied themselves with lighting torches. Bad.

Getting to the other tree, Shay finally saw the Assassin; the man was pulling out the rope dart's blade, and this told volumes about his powerful build and great strength. It would be suicidal, to start an open fight with him, even if he was injured.

Shay was forced to use Assassins’ methods again.

Several grenades and smoke bombs fell down, and while scared horses created chaos, adding with their whining to the cries of pain and anger, Shay carefully aimed and shot two berserker darts, just to be on the safe side. The Assassin roared like a wounded bear and lunged at the first enemy he saw. Soldiers never knew what hit them; a minute later the only one alive was the crazy Assassin who, red from head to toe with blood, still lurked around, looking for another prey to kill.

Taking into account how well-attuned his senses were, Shay didn't risk moving, and he was actually glad for this respite. Also, this way he would make sure the poison worked as it should and killed the man. But either the problem was in the doubled dose of the poison or in the Assassin's mighty physique, but only after five minutes he finally fell to the ground, growling and gurgling. Just like a beast.

When the Assassin stilled, at last, lying amongst the dead bodies of men and horses, Shay disdainfully spat and, after warming his limbs up and wincing at how loudly they ached in protest, headed back to where they separated with Haytham. From there Shay followed the yellow trail, and it took him another hour till he saw a dead horse with teeth marks. Wolves. Worried, Shay looked around and rather quickly found those wolves, dead and already cold; so that meant Master Kenway was alive and relatively well, though Shay nevertheless quickened his steps, ignoring aching muscles. He would be resting later.

Another twenty minutes or so later Shay reached a small clearing, hidden between steep slopes and large rocks, short trees  helping with masking flames and smoke. Haytham was nowhere around.

“Master Kenway?” Shay went to the hobbled horse and patted it lightly, noting that it was melancholically nibbling at the grass. If the beast was calm, then there was no immediate danger.

The light from the fire was sufficient enough not to stumble on rocks and see silhouettes, yet Shay saw Haytham only when he came very closely.

“The chase?” turning abruptly toward the voice, Shay almost instantly relaxed, recognizing his companion, though it was unusual to see him in only his breeches and a shirt… a bloodied shirt. Scant light from the fire reflected off the metallic parts of the hidden blades that Master Kenway clearly refused to take off along with other clothes and weapons.

“Not pursuing us anymore. All dead.”

“Good. Tomorrow we ride early, I recommend you rest while there is time,” Haytham started walking towards his saddle lying not so far away on the ground, clearly intending to follow his own advice.

“Master Kenway, your arm.”

“It’s just a scratch, it had already begun to heal. No need for concern,” Haytham said over his shoulder, half turning to see the other man in the corner of his eye.

“Master,” Shay stepped closer to the Templar, suppressing the urge to grab his forearm. Considering Haytham’s skills, it would be a bad idea even without any unnecessary crush. “I saw many times when such ‘just a scratch’ ended in a fever and a month of grave illness.”

Shay did not understand why Haytham was treating his wound like that, why he didn’t wash and clothe it himself already. Was it really so hard to comprehend that neglecting an open wound was very dangerous in forests?

Exhaling, Master Kenway massaged the bridge of his nose for a second, then turned to face Shay.

“Just make it quick.”

As Shay expected, Haytham’s arm was covered in red almost down to the wrist, blood now dried up. But when Shay washed the filth away he discovered in surprise that the wound didn’t really look like it was dirty, and indeed had crusted over already, so there wouldn’t be any inflammation later. It seemed that all the blood that poured out of the wound and had upset Shay had nicely cleaned it up.

“Well?  Can I go to sleep now?” Shay blinked and looked Master Kenway in the face.

 Beautiful face, flames of fire dancing in his dark-grey eyes, ragged shadows giving his features surreal look, and dark skin seemingly made of bronze, lone strands of hair from the ponytail hanging loose and in disarray. Shay could not understand whether it was the flame’s doing, his own imagination, or maybe his sight wasn’t fooling him at all, but for a moment he thought he saw Haytham's expressive lips curl into a predatory smirk.

Shay blinked again and met Master Kenway’s gaze; in his eyes, there was only polite curiosity with just a fleck of amusement.

Finally, Shay processed the question he heard.

“Yes, of course. The wound is healing properly without my intervention,” he hastily stepped back, feeling waves of heat pooling in his stomach and his skin getting tight and hot, shivers breaking through him. He touched Master Kenway, he saw him without his shirt, he saw his skin, dark as if he wasn’t British at all but some savage or half-blood; he saw his hard muscles, felt how it was easy to trace them with the lightest of touches.

No, he couldn’t allow this to continue. Biting his tongue till he tasted blood (anything to wash away the tight coil of arousal that flashed in his stomach), Shay busied himself with practical matters concerning settling in.

It was bad. Shay thought he successfully got rid of those uncalled for feelings, but it took only ten minutes, a bare torso and a little of touching — the warmth, rough scars, the light dusting of hair on the forearms — and all Shay managed to achieve went south.

The way back turned out to be pure torture, because for some time they had to ride on one horse. Haytham held the reins, which meant Shay had to sit behind him and burn with two opposite desires: to cling stronger and to jump down from the horse and run on his own feet. Luckily for him, two days later they reached the first stronghold of civilization and procured the second horse. The rest of the way went relatively smoothly, though every evening Shay warred with arousal and persistent memories, even fantasies.

Once, a day away from Albany, Shay gave in. He carefully stood up in the middle of the night, mindful of sleeping Master Kenway, and quietly left their small camp with only stars lighting his path. He went till he was sure he was out of the hearing range, and only after that he allowed himself to lean against the wide tree trunk and slowly slide to the ground, pressing one hand to his groin and the other to his mouth.

Thoughts jumped inside his head in mad circles, swiftly melting one into another, feeding the flames of the desire to kiss Master Kenway, to run a hand through his hair and clasp them in a fist, to trace with kisses a line down his throat to his strong shoulders and arms, to his chest and his dark nipples, to give him pleasure, to take him in his mouth. The memory of the earlier battle in the fort only fueled those fantasies, and as soon as Shay imagined how Haytham would sound and groan if he gave him pleasure, Shay had to bite down onto the flesh of his palm to suppress a long moan. Loud huff of air still got loose from his lips. His other hand was sliding along his hard cock, and the heat was quickly filling him, from the glans to the groin, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and he couldn’t fight against the urge, he tugged his shirt up, his hand running across his stomach, and Shay tried his best to imagine it wasn’t his hand at all. Biting on his lower lip and feeling the pulsating almost-pain in his palm, Shay pleasured himself, unable to completely stifle his loud breathing and occasional shudder running down his spine.

Then, through the haze of arousal, dancing almost on the precipice of the great fall, he thought he heard a branch cracking. Instincts won, and Shay sobered up enough to concentrate on the world outside and to listen closely to the sounds that lived in the night forest. Shay’s hands had frozen in place, mid-gesture, not moving from the places they were caressing before. Then another twig crackled, closer, from where their little camp was located.

If it indeed was Haytham, then Shay must not show himself in his current state, he had to return his clothes to order immediately, for he, straining his ears, could almost make out quiet sneaking footsteps, and the rustling of the fusty  leaves and grass under the boots that were closing in, at any moment Haytham could see him.

It was a dangerous thought. And it was the last straw, and Shay was instantly blinded by a bright flash of delight, quite literally unable to see anything, and he arched his back, pressing hard against the coarse tree-trunk with the back of his head, moving his legs wider apart. Shame and pleasure mixed together into a scary thing, he was hot and cold simultaneously and shuddering, pain masquerading as pleasure and vice versa, and this strange ache was somehow sweeter than all the pleasures of the whole world.

Squeezing his eyes shut and biting down onto his free hand again, feeling his shirt slide slowly down his sensitive skin in a torture-like caress, Shay cried softly, then especially strong wave of shudder wrecked him, making his toes curl, and he was falling, falling into the abyss of pleasure, deaf and blind to the outside world.

Although, when he came back to his senses and tucked his shirt into his trousers, decent again, and looked around, he could find no traces of an audience. It seemed that his own fantasy played a nasty joke on him. Yet it was so sweet.

Seeing Haytham, fast asleep on his blanket, made Shay completely certain that he totally imagined any and all crunching twigs. He was even glad, because his secret was safe, and he was also calm, so calm as he hadn’t been for the last several days. Finally, he’d gotten away from the wanton thoughts about Master Kenway, even if only for a short amount of time.

 

After finishing his business in Albany, Shay was preparing to depart to New York, following Gist’s suggestion about whereabouts of the Precursor artifact. And although Gist loved drinking and having fun, his loyalty to the Order was without any doubt, as well as his wish to make the world better. Safer. His suggestions were undoubtedly worth investigating.

The errand boy, not older than eight, thin and dirty, gasping for air from a long run, literally caught Shay at the end of Morrigan’s gangway.

“Master Cormac! Master Cormac!” he heard cries and turned around, stopping on the very edge, only one step remaining between him and the deck of his ship.

The boy came to a halt on the pier, a moment later he was bending in half and trying to catch his breath. Shay felt a spark of annoyance, but he chose against hurrying up the errand boy — hearing his wheezes, he concluded the boy was in no condition to say anything right now. After half a minute he finally managed to speak. “Master Kenway ordered me to tell you that he wanted to meet you.”

Shay raised eyebrows and returned to the pier.

“Where?” if the Grand Master required his presence, he would come as soon as he could.

After hearing the address, Shay told his crew to wait, took a horse at the nearest stables and headed for Master Kenway’s. If the errand boy ran from here all the way to the docks, it was not surprising he barely stood at his feet — it was practically the other end of the city, where houses of wealthy townsmen were located, big and well-attended, with gardens and high fences. And the aroma from the docks did not get here, even with especially strong winds.

Shay wasn't surprised at all when he saw an impressive mansion and full staff of servants. Aristocrats loved to live with style, no-one could argue that. Thought Shay was very doubtful that many of this unquestionably noble class would have been able to survive their recent journey. And again, Master Kenway was no common aristocrat.

Willing down a flash of the feeling that had not yet fully grown, Shay dismounted, gave the reins to the boy that came running to help, and briskly went to the front door. It was no good to make the Grand Master wait longer than was strictly necessary. The butler took Shay to the master’s study, and he saw Haytham sitting at the table, working with numerous papers that completely concealed the wood of the tabletop.  Glancing at him momentarily,  Master Kenway greeted him with a nod, rather absentmindedly pointed at the armchair across himself with a tip of his pen and returned to his work.

Stepping silently across the soft carpet, Shay heard a small click of a door being closed; they were alone in the room. Seating in the comfy armchair, that was no doubt sailed from Europe because no-one in the colonies knew how to make these yet, Shay settled for the waiting, stifling the annoyance at the fact that he'd miss today's favorable wind. It seemed he shouldn't have hurried so much. Five minutes went by, and the study still was full only of pen squeaking softly against the paper and of logs crackling in the fireplace that gave a nice amount of heat, a pleasant diversion from the rainy weather outside. This time gave Shay a chance to study Haytham once more, the man looking a lot more rested and tidy than the last time Shay had seen him several days ago, when, after visiting that fort, they had split up and gone their separate ways.

With a completely safe kind of pleasure, Shay noted that his thoughts did not allow themselves to stray into dangerous territory like before. He’d be able to completely get rid of them soon.

Master Kenway leaned back in his chair and in doing so pulled Shay out from his thoughts. For a few seconds their eyes met, then the Grand Master stood up and, clutching his hands behind his back, walked to the fireplace, looking as if he was mesmerized by the flames.

“I wanted to discuss something with you before your departure, but only now I managed to make some time for it,” Haytham turned around and looked at Shay, who was sitting half-facing the other man, silently waiting for his next words. “Obviously, the errand boy was successful in catching you.” Nodding to his thoughts, Master Kenway returned to his writing desk and leaned against it, his buttocks pressing against the wood, his arms folded on his chest and making the shirt tighten and accentuate the muscles underneath it.

Shay swallowed, his throat dry, not a clue as to what was happening right now. He caught himself hungrily watching the man in front of him again, noting his clinging breeches and high boots, and oh those made nothing to help Shay calm down. He dared not to lift his gaze over Haytham’s chest lest he would give away his lust, that was undoubtedly bright and prominent in his too-expressive eyes right now.

“You see, Mr. Cormac,” either his imagination decided to mutiny again, or Haytham just pronounced his last name as if he was tasting it, “there is a problem. And to solve that problem, I require your help.”

“Anything you want,” and he really meant it.

“Look at me, Shay.”

His own name took him by surprise, and Shay, blinking once, obeyed, immediately getting lost in the strange gaze of steel-colored eyes that looked like thunderclouds in the dim light from the windows.

“Tell me, what do you see?” for a moment Shay had to grit his teeth to suppress a shiver ready to break loose, so sensual was Haytham’s voice.

Why is he acting like that?

“Grand Master of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order?” Shay answered, uncertain, because he didn’t understand what Master Kenway was trying to achieve.

Smiling gently, Haytham shook his head.

“I’m not talking about that. What did you see, sitting in that chair and studying me? What did you see, devouring me with our eyes every time you thought I wouldn’t notice?” Haytham stepped closer to Shay, who froze in his seat, afraid to believe his own ears and, simultaneously, aching with all  his soul to believe. A wave of shiver ran down Shay’s spine; he was too aware of the danger that wrapped around Haytham like a cloak. “What did you see, when we were pressed closely together, whilst around us was the pure chaos of the battle and bullets whistling?” Another step closer, Shay buried his fingertips into the armrests. The Grand Master’s white shirt was a bright contrast to his swarthy skin, it’s collar carelessly opened and tempting to give in and kiss his strong neck. “What did you see, washing away my dried up blood? What did you feel, caressing me whilst pretending to tend to my wounds? What did you feel, biting into your hand with all your strength and trying to stifle moans of pleasure,  when you sat in that forest, cumming?”

Haytham slowly got closer with every new sentence he voiced, until, finally, he rested his hands firmly on the armrests of Shay’s chair, surrounding him and capturing underneath. Then he leaned even lower, intently watching Shay’s reaction to his words like a predator.

Never in his life had Shay got aroused so quickly. A moment, one heartbeat — and it’s galloping, all of the blood rushing down, so fast there’s ringing in Shay’s ears and fog of pleasure before his eyes. He understood. He understood it all.

Master Kenway correctly interpreted Shay’s behavior from the very beginning, and all this time he was just testing him. Shay didn’t imagine his presence there in the forest, Haytham really was there!

It was because of him that the last one and a half weeks were so hard for Shay.

With a short growl, he grasped Haytham by his hair and yanked him closer, kissing him hard and demandingly. For several moments it was Shay who commanded everything, venting all of his suppressed desire, and then Haytham took the initiative with staggering ease, subduing Shay with sweet swipes of his tongue, his strong hands almost tenderly embracing Shay’s head, thumbs massaging lightly the sensitive areas behind his ears. Rumbling softly, nearly groaning into the kiss, Shay tugged a little at Haytham’s ponytail, just making him aware of the hand there but not pulling properly; the next moment Shay let himself loose, his hands roaming over and under Haytham’s white shirt, soaking in the heat his skin was emanating, reveling in the strength and might that Haytham was somehow surrounded with, even while kissing Shay so thoroughly.

He hadn’t even touched Shay anywhere except his face, and yet Shay was already so aroused that he felt like exploding from the hunger within. He managed to tear another firm kiss from Haytham’s lips, sighing contently, before the man pulled back.

"There are too many clothes between us, don’t you think?” Haytham smiled hungrily, his lips swollen and glistening with spit, his pupils blown wide, his breathing heavy; all of this was like a drug for Shay, and he could barely breathe in the hot air that, for some unfathomable reason, had turned into a kissel.

Nodding drunkenly, Shay disentangled himself from the other man – what a strong, beautiful predator he was – and started undoing all of his own straps and belts that were holding his weapons in place. With a dull clanging, his munitions fell on the carpet near the chair. Haytham was standing right before him, watching, yet his patience had come to an end and his dexterous hands started to trace the lines of Shay's body, warring with buttons and clasps. Shay bit his lower lip in an attempt to suppress sounds unbecoming of a man that burned to let loose from his throat. Soon, his coat and his vest were on the floor, in one heap with the weapons.

Acting on an impulse, Shay arched into the commanding hands, pulled the red ribbon out from Haytham’s hair, finally relieved this piece of clothing was out of the way and had stopped teasing and luring him. Brown mane fell over Haytham’s shoulders, giving him an even more enticing look, all ragged and unruly; with a small, almost feral grin Haytham squeezed between Shay’s parted legs, went down on his knees, tugging at Shay’s ponytail and making him throw his head back. Hot lips had pressed to his throat, right to his pulse, and it was so… wild and fierce, pure image of the instinctive drive to dominate and to mark, and all Shay could do was to moan approvingly, feeling the teeth sinking into his flesh, feeling the tongue dancing over his sensitive skin. There would no doubt be a very telling hickey later, but right now neither of them cared. All that mattered was the touching, skin to skin, and the heat of another body, the dizzying smell of musk and arousal and warmth.

When after some indefinite time Haytham drew back, looking appraisingly over what he’d done, Shay’s shirt was covering only one of his shoulders, his lips swollen and red, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. Haytham himself was not far from that himself; his dark hair in complete disarray, chest heaving with each breath, a telling bulge at the front of his breeches, tempting Shay to touch it.

And, as it turned out, it was laughably easy – to move forward and press his lips to Haytham’s, as if there were no borders between them, as if the whole world had stopped to exist; it was easy for Shay, to show Haytham his admiration with his body, praise him with a string of wet kisses, landing them lower and lower still, to his collarbone that was peeking out from under the snow-white shirt, mutter a prayer and give himself totally to the mercy of another’s fingers and teeth, rendering himself completely subdued to another’s will. Shay was drunk, but the fog in his head was light, it didn’t chain him to the ground but lifted him above it and added more hues to the pleasure when Haytham’s hand finally wrapped around his painfully hard cock, ready to burst. Sweet torture. Answering with the same move, Shay tried with all his remaining attention to watch closely any of Haytham's response to his actions, from time to time completely losing any grip on reality when Haytham squeezed him, hard, on the very verge of painful, perfectly. And Shay was biting down on the first thing that he could; sometimes it was his own hand, sometimes it was Haytham’s shoulder, who then groaned hoarsely, throwing his head back, literally devouring Shay with his searing grey eyes.

Shay had no idea how much time had passed. Not very much, considering the fact that the sun was still above the horizon line. Just at some point Shay realized that he was sitting next to Haytham on the carpet and that his orgasm was licking with flaming tongues at the fringes of his mind, threatening to flood him up with syrupy pleasure.

“Haytham,” a hoarse groan, a first intelligible word in an unmeasured period of time, and Shay felt that he was on the very brink, that he was ready to fall into the abyss and darkness; he was clinging to the crumbling  edges of reality with remaining scraps of his self-control.

“Come on, Shay,”  coarse whisper, the hand moving even quicker, exquisite, burning caress. Soft lips drinking his sighs. “Come for me,” Haytham breathed into his ear, and his voice the embodiment of all that was poisoning Shay’s thoughts and fantasies and hurling them into frenzied circles. Shay opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came, and he arched his spine, throwing his head back, falling down. Surrendering to the orgasm that flooded him to the brim.

A groan pulled Shay out of his reverie, and he realized that Haytham hadn’t come yet. So Shay didn’t give himself nor the other man any time to think, he got on all fours, still trembling from his own high, and with one smooth motion took Haytham’s cock into his mouth as deep as he could. Some distant part of Shay’s mind made him notice that there was no finesse nor beauty in his movements, but the tightness and the heat were enough; with a short growl Haytham grasped Shay’s hair and came, salty and hot. The taste strange and unusual, but not repulsive at all.

So he swallowed everything, meeting Haytham’s gaze, and when he realized _what_ Shay had just done, his eyes darkened abruptly, full of desire. Shay widened his throbbing lips into a cocky smile, getting another sharp and dominant kiss in return, though not fueled by the blinding arousal anymore.

And now, while his vision was still swimming a little with bliss, Shay felt as if he became his old self, cheeky and arrogant youth who hadn’t seen a city fall apart, who hadn’t seen the true world, and who was content with just believing in his best friend.

Pulling away, Haytham sat beside him, and one could’ve called their stance innocent if not for their disheveled clothes and traces of Shay’s cum all over his shirt and breeches. He was feeling pleasingly warm, totally capable of sitting like that for an eternity; at that rate, they would have to sail tomorrow...

“Shay.”

“Yes, Master Kenway,” for now he settled on just pitching his voice to being respectful. Considering the fact that the Haytham’s lips were still glistening with Shay’s spit, the officialism seemed rather superfluous.

“I hope you understand that I offer sex, not a romantic relationship.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Good,” Haytham stood up, organized his clothes into a semblance of order, and gave Shay a hand, helping him up. “Now to the business.”

Yes. It didn’t matter how strong was the desire for each other burning in them, the Grand Master wouldn’t have called for him just to have sex. This man always had several reasons for his every action. And Shay knew perfectly well that he had no choice but to reconcile with it. Though it was one of Master Haytham’s qualities that delighted Shay, so it really was no big deal.


End file.
